


The Reasons

by Nobadi_Liek_U



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobadi_Liek_U/pseuds/Nobadi_Liek_U
Summary: BW Band AU. Agencyshipping!





	The Reasons

Black’s first memory of experiencing rock music is from when he was five years old.

He’s just gotten home from kindergarten with his mom, and steps in the front door to hear music coming from the basement, wailing notes echoing up from below. 

“Whazzat?” He asks his mother, bewildered. She smiles at him.

“Daddy’s gone and bought himself a guitar. He’s wanted one since you were born. Why don’t you go down and be his audience?”

“Wow! D’you think he’d let me try it?” Black shouts, bouncing down the stairs without waiting for an answer. His mom can only smile and shake her head. Black is a sweet but rambunctious kid, hyperactive and noisy. She’d known a surprise like this would get him all riled up.

Black trips on the last stair and tumbles to the ground with a thump. “Hey, Dad!” He exclaims, none the worse for wear. He trots over to where his dad is sitting on the couch, a rather rough-looking white guitar in his lap. There’s a video of a rock band playing on TV, and Dad is playing along with them.

Dad smiles and tousles the boy’s spiky brown hair. “Hey, sport. Did you come to hear me play?” Black bobs his head enthusiastically.

Dad gives him an aw shucks sort of look. “I’m not as good as I used to be,” he laughs, with a touch of melancholy. But he starts strumming along to the music on the TV again. It’s fast and loud and full of energy, just like Black. He’s not sure whether to watch Dad, or the band on TV, but he loves what he’s hearing until Dad messes up and stops playing with a CLANG!

Dad laughs again. “Like I said, not that good anymore.”

Mom appears at the bottom of the stairs, laughing along with him. “You weren’t that good in college either, honey.” Dad throws up his hands in mock offense.

“And here I was thinking that my guitar playing was why you fell for me,” he groans, but at the same time throwing a playful wink towards Black. 

Black isn’t paying much attention to them, though - his gaze is focused entirely on the guitar. “Why’s it so bad, though?” the guitar has certainly seen better days. There are several chips and gouges in the paint, and part of the body has been sheared off entirely, leaving the wood grain underneath entirely visible. Printed on the neck but worn away with time are the words Fender Telecaster, although Black can’t actually read so the words mean nothing anyways.

Dad bops him on the head instead of tousling it this time. “The first thing you should learn about guitars in not to judge them by the way they look. She plays like a dream.”

“Can I try?”

“Sure, kiddo, come over here.”

Black climbs up on his dad’s lap, and Dad puts the guitar on him. The problems with this are immediately visible - The guitar is taller than the kid, and wee sticky fingers don’t lend themselves terribly well to any level of dexterity. But Dad gives him a pick and shows him where to put his fingers on the fretboard, and after a few moments he’s strumming a basic chord.

“Wow,” enthuses Mom. “He’s already better than you are, honey!” 

Dad actually scowls this time, but he smiles again when he sees Black’s face lit up with joy. He shows him a few more chords, and soon Black is playing along to the band on TV - shakily, but about as well as a five year old could. When the song ends, Black turns back to his Dad excitedly. “Can I have a guitar, too?” 

“Hmmm,” Dad says, scratching his head and looking over at his wife. “I don’t see why not. Then I’d have someone to play with.”

The next weekend, Dad takes him out and buys him his first guitar, a cheap model designed for kids. It’s blue and has white highlights all over it. Really, it’s just a toy, but Black plays it every single day for the next few weeks, alongside his dad. Dad introduces him to all sorts of new bands - The Smiths, Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Green Day, Rage Against The Machine, Neutral Milk Hotel, Godspeed You! Black Emperor. All of them have distinct sounds, but they all have one thing in common - he can play their songs with his father. 

He takes over some music videos to his friend Bianca’s house one day, to watch them with her and their friend Cheren. 

“What’s this band called?” Asks Cheren, sitting on his knees too close to the screen. The band looks like they’d be more at home in a math club than playing rock music. The lead singer and guitarist has a shaggy mop of hair and big round glasses, and doesn’t seem to quite know how to stand on stage without looking awkward - which makes it all the more surprising when he starts to absolutely shred on his guitar.

“Weezer!” Exclaims Black. “Dad says Weezer sucks, but he always listens to them anyway.” He too is watching the tape intently, studying the movements of all the band members as they play a song about a sweater. “He kinda looks like you, Cheren!”

“My glasses aren’t like that,” Cheren grumbles. His are much smaller and thinner. His hair is also rather spiky, and black rather than the frontman’s floppy and brown. Black and Bianca ignore him.

“Someday, I’m gonna be in a band like that,” Black shouts. “Just you wait!” 

Bianca says “Me too! I wanna be in your band! I can play guitar too!”

Bianca is small and blonde and quick to cry. Black and Cheren both look at her in bewilderment. “You can?” asks Black.

“Yeah!” She goes over to the closet and pulls out a child-sized classical guitar.

“Wow!” says Black. “Show us!” 

Bianca toddles over to her chair and props her guitar up on her knees, and then plucks out a tune that Black recognizes as “Mary Had A Little Lamb”.

Well, that settles it. Black can only play chords, and here’s Bianca playing songs! Within 5 seconds of her finishing, Bianca is immediately recruited as the second member of Black’s band.

They both turn to Cheren. “What about you, Cheren? You wanna be in the band too?” He fidgets a little bit.

“Well, yeah, but I can only play the piano, so…” Cheren’s mom has just started him in piano lessons.

“That’s okay! We’ll be the first rock band with a piano player!” Says Bianca. (They wouldn’t have been.)

Cheren’s face breaks into a grin. “Okay! Let’s do it!”

For Cheren and Bianca, it may be a typical childish flight-of-fancy, but Black takes it extremely seriously. He practices every day, with his dad or without. He gets a brand new, real guitar from Dad when he turns 10. By the age of 12, he’s gotten seriously good.

“I think he might be better than you, Dear,” Mom says again. But this time, she means it.

“Yeah,” complains Dad, looking at his hands. “Maybe I’m just getting worse. I feel like my hands won’t do what I tell them to sometimes.”

“Maybe you’re just getting old,” chirps Black.  
“I’m not even 40!” Exclaims Dad. “No way I’m just getting old.”

He’s right. It starts off small - missing notes on the guitar, stumbling on stairs, the occasional broken glass. He shrugs these things off like they don’t mean anything, until one night he can’t deny it anymore.

He’s playing guitar with Black, as usual, and then all of a sudden, he isn’t. Black stops playing, and turns to look at him.

“What’s wrong, dad?” he asks.

“My arm,” Dad says, shakily. “I can’t move my-”

He drops the guitar and slumps to the couch. 

“Dad? DAD?!” Howls Black.

The doctors diagnose Black’s father with Multiple Sclerosis - a disease which prohibits the brain’s ability to communicate with the body. It will affect him for the rest of his life, as there is no cure. Eventually, Black’s father will be unable to walk or speak. He will never play the guitar again. And Black, stricken with grief, puts his guitar away as well. For a long, long time.

It isn’t until junior year in high school that Black touches a guitar again.

While picking courses for his third year during the summer, his eyes land on the school’s classical guitar course, which he’s scrolled past several times before. He’s never thought twice about it in the past, but...he needs an easy credit. His schedule is pretty stacked this year, and he knows how to play already, even though he doesn’t want to. There’s nothing else as easy as this, so he sighs and checks the little box.

The first day of the second semester rolls around, and Black saunters to the 4th period guitar class. 

The music room is about what he expected. On one wall, violin and viola cases are filed neatly onto a shelf. There’s a blackboard on the opposite wall, with musical staves drawn on it. Four double-basses take up a significant amount of space in the back corner, and a bass guitar rests on a stand beside them. It’s a Rickenbacker - very nice and very expensive. Black wonders who it belongs to. And, along the back wall, there are rows of guitars in their cases. There’s only one other student there - a pretty blue-eyed brunette with her hair in a ponytail is in the far corner, tuning a guitar. 

Black recognizes the girl, though he’s never spoken to her. She had turned up in his Phys. Ed and Math classes about a week before the end of the semester. It was an unusual time for a student to transfer into a new school. Maybe she’d been taking the same classes at her old school.

Black watches her for a moment, until she looks up and smiles at him. He gives her a wave and plunks down into a chair, opting not to pick up a guitar until he has to.

More students shuffle in before the bell, but the class is a lot smaller than Black was anticipating - there’s only about 12 of them. Hopefully he won’t draw too much attention to himself.

The bell rings, and the teacher stands up and gives the usual spiel for the start of a high school class. She introduces herself as Miss Elesa. Black doesn’t pay attention to most of it, until she tells everyone to pick a guitar and tune it up. 

He has to admit, holding a guitar in his lap again feels good. Weird, but definitely good. At the same time, he’s a little hesitant to touch the strings after tuning them. Looking around to make sure no one is watching, he plays one of his favorite old riffs. ‘Still got it.’

It’s clear within a few minutes that this class is going to be even easier than Black had thought. Miss Elesa goes around and asks each student individually what their skill level is, and most of the other students don’t know the first thing about the guitar. When she asks Black, he responds evasively: “I’ve played before.” He plays an easy little riff to prove it. Miss Elesa gathers all the beginners around her for a rudimentary lesson, leaving Black outside the circle with the brunette, who also showed a reasonable knowledge of what she was doing. 

Black glances over at her again. At the moment, she seems rather lost in her own little world, her eyes down on the strings and a gentle smile upon her lips as she strums a song. She’d make for a pretty painting, looking like that.

Black shakes the cobwebs away and looks at Miss Elesa, making sure she’s paying no attention to him either. Then he pulls from his pocket the pick he smuggled in (classical guitars are supposed to be played with your fingers rather than a pick, which Black prefers) and starts to play. Quietly, so as not to disturb the rest of the class (or let on that’s he’s actually any good).

It comes back to him instantly. All the jam sessions in the basement with his father are still there in his fingers. He remembers how nothing ever felt quite as good as playing the guitar. And he wishes he had never stopped.

Somehow, Black loses track of time. When he finally looks up from his guitar, it’s because of Miss Elesa, on her way out of the room, telling him that class is already over but he can stay if he wants. The room is nearly empty. A small smile cracks on his face, but it just as quickly disappears when he sees the girl in the corner, watching him and smiling. The classical guitar she was playing before has been replaced with the bass guitar Black had spotted earlier.

Well, that’s his cover blown instantly. (Later, he wonders why he ever felt the need to hide his playing.) Unsure of what to do, Black just stares back at the girl like an idiot. Thankfully, she takes the first step by playing something on the bass.

Black recognizes it as the bass part for the song he’d just been playing. His fingers itch and twitch, and before he can stop himself he’s playing the lead guitar part right overtop of her. And then he remembers something else: If playing the guitar is the best feeling in the world, playing it with someone else is ten - no, a hundred times better. Especially if the other player is good - which this girl is. Black doesn’t even know her name, and yet here they are, connecting through the music of The Strokes coming from their guitars.

They finish the first part of the song and Black, coursing with adrenaline, lets out a whoop and a holler. The girl laughs. 

“I’m Black!” he calls to her over the music. It’s an odd time to tell her that, but it’s just occurred to him that he should probably introduce himself.

The girl laughs again. “I know! We had P.E. and Math together, remember? You introduced yourself pretty loudly on my first day!”

Black turns a little red. “Oh. Right.” He never did have much of an indoor voice.

“I’m White. Nice to meet you! I’m gonna sing, okay?”

She leaps in with the chorus of the song. In contrast to her bubbly, perky speaking voice, her singing voice is a smoky, rich alto, catching Black off guard. 

“Leavin’ just in time  
Stay there for a while  
Rollin’ in the ocean,  
Trying to catch his eye  
Work hard and say it’s easy,  
Do it just to please me  
Tomorrow will be different,  
So I’ll pretend I’m leaving.”

Black is ready with the solo when she finishes the chorus. It’s a whining, wailing sort of guitar solo, with lots of bends and a tricky hammer-off section, but he nails it. 

They finish the song together. Black lets out another series of ecstatic hoots and hollers at the end, and White adds a few of her own.

“That was AWESOME! We were awesome!” shouts Black. “You can really sing!”

“And you can really play! Wow!” White gushes. “You’re just what I’m looking for!”

“Yeah, I - Wait, what?”

White blushes a little when she realizes how that had sounded, but recovers quickly. “No, I mean I want to start a band, but I haven’t met anyone else who can play at the school - I just transferred here this year. I was hoping maybe this class would have another real musician - which it did!” 

White can probably see the gears turning in Black’s head as what she had said sinks in. “You...want me? For a band?” 

White bobs her head enthusiastically. The grin fades from Black’s face. “Oh. Huh.” 

She looks at him strangely. “Don’t you want to?”

Black doesn’t answer for a moment. Does he want to?

“It’s been a while,” he finally says, slowly. “I haven’t played since I was twelve.”

“Yeah? It doesn’t show,” White replies. She’s right, but the real reason Black is hesitant isn’t really one he wants to share with a stranger. 

“...I’ll think about it,” He says eventually. White seems a little surprised by his lack of enthusiasm, but after a second she smiles breezily.

“Okay. I’m going to go for lunch. If you know anyone else who’s a musician, let me know!”

Black nods and watches as she exits the room, leaving him alone. He looks down at the guitar again, frowning. There’s someone he needs to talk to.

“Hi, dad,” Black announces as he enters his father's hospital room that afternoon.

Black’s father sits in a wheelchair by the window, watching television. MS has long since robbed him of his ability to walk or speak, but his eyes are still full of life and they light up even more when he sees his son. Black walks over and gives him a hug.

Black drops by nearly every afternoon to tell his father about his day. It’s not easy to keep a relationship when one of the participants is unable to do pretty much anything, but Black tries his damnedest. 

Today, he relates the events of the day to his father as usual, but he leaves the most important part until last and then drops it casually at the end. “Oh, yeah. My guitar class started today. I played for the first time since…” he doesn’t finish. 

His father looks very happy. Black chuckles.

“I know, it’s been too long, hasn’t it?” He scratches his head. “And...there was someone there, a girl, and she wants me to be in a band with her. And I wanna do it, but...”

Dad raises an eyebrow. ‘Then why don’t you?’

“I...don’t know. Being in a band is what I’ve always wanted, and yet…” He looks down at the wheelchair. “It just doesn’t feel right when you’re like this. Playing doesn’t feel right when you’re like this.” 

Dad snorts, and now there’s a little bit of anger in his eyes.

“I know, I know, I should do what I want. But…”

He looks his dad in the eye, and is a little taken aback. The expression on his face is clear: ‘Don’t you dare pity me. Go join that band.”

Black swallows. “I...ok. I will. For you and for me.”

Dad lifts his arm off the wheelchair armrest and shakily points at Black. No. For you.

The next day in guitar class, Black tells White that he’ll be in her band, and the smile she gives him makes his heart flutter a little.

“I’m so happy!” She exclaims. “Do you know any other musicians?”

Black nods slowly. “My two best friends are also musicians. One plays the guitar. The other plays - well, pretty much everything,” he says.

Bianca had taken classical guitar for several years and was a proficient player. Cheren had loved his piano lessons so much that he started picking up several other instruments, and now fills in playing whatever instrument anyone needs for a performance in his spare time. 

White’s eyes shine with glee. “Perfect! We have a band!”

“That’s if they agree to join.” says Black. He doesn’t know if they remember the promise that they made when they were five, but he hopes they do.

The pair are shushed by Miss Elesa, who is trying to show the rest of the class the basics. 

After class, Black calls up Cheren and Bianca. “Wanna be in a band?” He asks, nonchalantly. After a second, he has his answer. First practice is on saturday.

Black and White become fast friends. The teacher, recognizing that they know what they are doing, mostly leaves them alone in guitar class, only telling them what their playing assignments are and leaving them to it. This gives them plenty of time to chat and learn about each other, and often they stay after the bell and eat lunch together.

“I’m from Floccesy Town,” White explains over lunch. She giggles at Black’s confused expression - he’s never heard of the place in his entire life. “Don’t feel bad. It’s a tiny hick town out in the boonies. There’s maybe 200 people there and not a single one of them played a musical instrument except me.”

“Must be a culture shock coming here to Castelia, then. How’d you learn to play?” Black asks, munching on his sandwich.

“Taught myself. It was really hard,” she chuckles.

“Wow. I bet.” Black scratches his head. “My dad taught me, but...eventually I got better than him and had to learn a lot of stuff myself,” he laughs.

“He must be pretty good too though, to have taught you,” White smiles.

Black doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “Yeah. He was.”

White’s hands fly to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Black. I didn’t know he was…”

“He’s not. He’s still alive. He just doesn’t play anymore,” Black shrugs.

White looks at him strangely, but doesn’t pry further, which Black is grateful for. 

She’s outgoing and very easy to talk to, and they have a lot in common. Black sees a little bit of his old self in her - headstrong and determined, willing to achieve her dream at any cost - which turns out to be the same as his. She wants to be in a band. A good band. Maybe even the best band of all time.

However, it’s clear from their first practice that they’ve got a long way to go to achieve that.

They meet at Cheren’s house, since he has a full studio in his basement. Several guitars and basses line the walls, and there’s a good drum kit and keyboard as well. White introduces herself to Black’s friends, and they seem to get on quite well.

Bianca is beside herself. “I’m in a band,” she squeals. “What should we call ourselves? Ooh, I know, The Audience! Get it, because we’re like the band on stage playing to an audience, but we’re actually The Audience too - “

“What about The Dorks?” deadpans Cheren from behind his drums. White snickers. She’s already quite fond of Cheren and Bianca’s nattering.

“We aren’t dorks now that we’re in a band, Cheren,” argues Bianca. “We’re automatically cool! Even if we suck, we’ll still be cool!”

“Neither of you will ever stop being dorks,” chirps Black, tuning his guitar. He owns a few, but the one he’s brought today is a white Fender Telecaster, exactly the same as his father’s - except much nicer to look at, since he got it brand new. It was the first real guitar his father bought him, and he’d wanted the same one that his dad had - he wouldn’t settle for anything else.

“The name can wait,” laughs White. “First, we need to get Bianca a guitar.” She doesn’t own an electric guitar, just a classical. “Can she borrow one of Cheren’s?”

“No problem,” says Cheren, pushing his glasses up his nose. “As long as she doesn’t break it.”

The guitar Bianca picks off of Cheren’s wall is a Fender Stratocaster with a pretty sky-blue finish, and she waves her hands excitedly when she sees it. “It’s beautiful!” she sets it on her knee classical-style and starts to play with her fingers. 

White watches her for a few minutes. She’s quite good, but…

“You don’t use a pick? Even for rock?” she asks.

“Ah! No,” Bianca frowns. “I’ve never tried.”

“That’s okay,” Black says helpfully. “There’s rock guitarists who play fingerstyle. Mark Knopfler does.” The frontman for Dire Straits was famous in the seventies and eighties for the way he could make his Strat wail and sing with his fingers.

“Jeff Beck too,” says White. “And Jack White, sometimes. But...they all play lead guitar, and I kind of thought Black would be playing lead. Rhythm guitar without a pick...”

Bianca nods and smiles. “You’re right. He should. He’s better at lead than he is at rhythm.” her smile fades. “So...that means I should learn to use a pick, right?” 

The three other members spend the next half-hour drilling the use of the guitar pick into Bianca’s head. By the end of it, she can use a pick with reasonable effectiveness. They also teach her power chords - a necessity for any rhythm guitarist, but completely unheard of in the world of classical guitar. 

“Okay. We’re ready to play then, right?” White says, slinging her bass around her shoulder. “Um…” she grins sheepishly. “I haven’t written any songs yet. Should we cover something?”

When they finish practice, it’s well past sundown. Black and White bid Cheren and Bianca goodbye at the door.

“I’ll walk you home,” says Black. “It can be dangerous here in the city.”

White gives him a small smile. “You’re sweet. Thank you.” Black blushes a little.

They walk in silence for a bit, which Black can never handle. “So…” he starts.

“Yeah?” 

“...We suck, huh?”

White stops walking under a streetlight and arches an eyebrow at him, and then they both burst into laughter.

“The worst!” White howls. “God, we’re so bad!”

“What were we expecting?” Black yells, through tears of laughter. 

It’s all true. Although the pair had sounded good together in guitar class, adding two more members to the band had complicated things massively. Although all four members were technically proficient, only Cheren had any real experience playing in a band, and even then he’d never drummed for one. The handful of covers they’d tried were a complete mess.

“Oh well, it’s okay,” White says finally, after both of them have calmed down. “We’ll improve. We just need to get ready in time for…” she’s about to say it, and then changes her mind. “Never mind. I wanna tell everyone together, but don’t worry. We have lots of time.” 

Black scratches the back of his head. 

“Oh! By the way,” White exclaims. “I thought of a name for us!”

“What is it?”

“Picture this, in lights.” White makes a frame with her fingers, pointing it at some imaginary stage across the street. “The Agency.”

“That sounds a lot more professional than we do,” Black admits. “But...I kinda like it.” He pauses. “If we’re an agency, does that mean you’re the CEO?”

“Damn right.”

“Okay, Miss President.” She laughs at the nickname. “What does that makes me?”

She cocks her head to the side, thinking, and then grins. “My personal assistant. Lackey. Crony. Stooge.”

“I object to the stooge,” Black complains, and she laughs again. It’s a lovely laugh - it reminds Black of the tinkling of a bell.

Their banter stops for a bit as they walk, and Black can’t help but watch White as she leads him to her home, pale and beautiful in the glow of the streetlights. What are these feelings rising in his chest? He tries to push them down. Sure, White is pretty and clever and fun to talk to, but...that doesn’t mean he likes her. Definitely not. He shakes his head to get it out of the gutter, but the giddy feeling still remains.

They pass a playground, and Black gets an idea.

“One sec,” he says to White. Then he runs over to the jungle gym and starts to climb it.

“Black, what - wait up!” White calls, running after him. She reaches the bottom of the jungle gym just as Black reaches the top, and he extends a hand to her. “C’mon up!” he says. She hesitates a moment, and then takes his hand. He pulls her up so that they’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the platform. It’s a little snug, and he blushes slightly, but he takes a deep breath and grips the railing, and SHOUTS: 

“WE’RE GONNA BE THE BEST! THE AGENCY IS GONNA BE THE GREATEST BAND IN THE WORLD, YOU CAN ALL COUNT ON IT! WOOOHOOOOOO!”

White covers her ears. “Geez, Black,” she cries. “What on earth are you doing that for?”

Black loosens his grip on the railing. “Phew. Haven’t done that for years,” he laughs. “I used to shout like that every day, to whoever was listening.”

“You’re weird,” huffs White. “And I’m deaf now, so thanks.” She doesn’t exactly sound angry, though. “Are you gonna take me home now?”

Black laughs again. “Sure, Prez.” 

“Is that my nickname now?”

“...Yeah. I think so.”

On Monday, there’s an assembly during guitar class, and White finds a way to make their climb a little easier - or harder, depending on your point of view.

They sit next to each other in the auditorium, and Black lowers his cap over his eyes. 

“Not gonna pay attention?” White asks him. 

“Not a chance, Prez,” he mumbles. “No one ever says anything of consequence at these things. Maybe if there’s a performance I’ll wake up, but otherwise, I’m gonna catch up on some sleep.”

As it turns out, there is a performance - the school band has been working terribly hard to pull off a mediocre cover of the school song. 

White shakes Black awake just after it starts. “Black, look,” she exclaims. “Look at that girl!”

Black takes his hat off and looks blearily at the stage. “Which girl?” he asks. “There’s like twenty girls up there.”

“The drummer!” 

Black looks at the kit and the drummer. The girl is tiny, with wild hair and a hyper demeanor. Her skin is chocolate brown, the same as her eyes. Black recognizes her instantly.

“Oh, her. That’s Iris. She’s the principal’s granddaughter,” says Black. 

“She can play!” exclaims White.

“She certainly is playing those drums, yes,” monotones Black, not entirely sure what White is getting at. 

“I want her,” says White.

Black’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach, for some reason. “Oh. I didn’t know you were into…”

White stares at him. “Huh?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says hastily. “I mean...She’s just a freshman, so she’s a little young, don’t you think? And I don’t think she’s into girls anyway-”

White swats his arm. “Not to date, you dummy! For the band!” Her face is more than a little pink. “I’m not into girls, for your information.”

“...Oh. That’s good,” he says lamely. White raises an eyebrow at him - she’s been doing that a lot recently. “I mean, it’d be fine if you were, but -”

“Black. Stop talking,” she sighs, pressing a hand to her temple. 

He does, just for a moment. Then he says “But we already have a drummer. Why do we need her?” 

“I mean…What we have now is cool and all, but...two guitars, drums and bass is like every band ever, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean, Prez?”

“Think about it! If we have Iris on drums, it means we can have Cheren play whatever we need him to play, since he plays everything! We can have keys, or another guitar, or...uh, saxophone…” 

Black scratches his head. “It’s tempting, but...We can barely handle playing with four of us right now. Adding another player is going to be chaos.”

White waves him off. “Meh. Four, five, what’s the difference?” A bold assertion. “I’m gonna talk to her after the assembly. You coming or not?” 

Black grumbles a bit, but in the end he lets her drag him backstage to find Iris. They spot her quickly - She’s fussing over her drumsticks and chatting happily with the other members of the school band.

“C’mon,” says White, and pulls Black by the hand over to Iris. She spots them coming and meets them halfway.

“Hiya, Black!” She looks over White’s shoulder and waves at him, and then focuses on White. “Hi, person I don’t know. Are you Black’s girlfriend? Nice to meet you!”

Black sighs as White’s smile quickly becomes forced. Iris is a nice girl, but she has a certain way of getting under people’s skin that makes talking to her for more than a few minutes exhausting. He could have predicted this happening.

“N-no, we aren’t dating,” stammers White. “I’m White. I just moved here. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Iris. You move fast, eh? ” grins Iris, nudging White’s ribs and giving her a wink. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell!”

White, for the first time since Black had met her, is speechless. He’s used to dealing with Iris, but the first time he spoke to her had gone rather like this. He gently moves a blushing White to the side by her shoulders, and says bluntly:

“Iris, we’re in a band. We want you to drum for us. You in?” The only way to win against Iris’s teasing was not to play.

Iris puts a hand over her mouth and points at herself. “Gosh, you want little ol’ me? There must be some better drummers in the school, doncha think?”

“We have Cheren, but we want him to play -”

“I’m in,” Iris says instantly. 

“What? That easily?” Black says.

“Of course! How could I miss an opportunity to hang out with Cheren!” Iris grins wickedly. “When’s practice?” 

“Uh, Wednesday after school, at Cheren’s, but -”

“Okay! See you there! I gotta go, I’m late for somethin’!”

And with that, she’s out the door and gone.

White hasn’t yet recovered, and can only say “I...uh...what?”

Black sighs and gives her a pat on the shoulder. “I know how you feel. C’mon, lets go to the music room…” He guides her gently away.

On Wednesday, White, Black and Iris walk to Cheren’s house together after school. Cheren and Bianca had no extracurriculars today and went straight to his house, but Iris had practice with the school band and Black and White had waited around for her.

“Still think she’s a good fit for us?” Black whispers to White. Iris is twenty feet ahead, skipping along happily oblivious to the conversation going on behind. 

“Okay, so she’s a little silly. But...she’s a good drummer.” White answers firmly. “I wonder why she accepted as soon as she heard Cheren’s name, though. Does she have a crush on him or something?”

Black laughs. “Uh...you’ll see.” Iris and Cheren’s relationship is interesting, to say the least. 

White rubs her hands together wickedly. “Maybe I can get her with a taste of her own medicine.”

“I admire your optimism, but Iris can’t be teased,” says Black. “If you try, she’ll just find a comeback instantly and embarrass you even more. But...she really got to you with what she said, huh?”

“Well...yeah, a bit,” White admits. “I wouldn’t start dating someone only two weeks after meeting them. I’m not that easy.” 

‘Maybe after I know a little more about you, though…’ she thinks.

It’s hard to admit, but White has already found herself falling for her goofball bandmate. He’s smart and funny and very cute, and he genuinely seems to like being around her even though they’ve only known each other for a few weeks. She just wishes he’d tell her more about himself. While he’s content to listen to her talk about herself all day, she’s noticed he’s quite guarded about his own self. That night on the playground was the only real insight he’d given into his past, and even then it was barely a sentence.

White finds out what he means about Cheren and Iris when they reach Cheren’s place.

“Hiya, Cheren!” Iris squawks, glomping Cheren in a hug as soon as she sees him. Cheren probably has at least a foot of height on her, but he’s so skinny that she almost knocks him over anyways. “I’m gonna be in a band with you! Isn’t that great?”

Cheren recovers from his initial surprise and says evenly “Splendid. Black, White, could I talk to you for just a second?” the pair look at each other sheepishly.

Cheren pulls them into his room and shuts the door. “Just - what exactly - were you thinking, bringing that devilspawn to my home?”

Black looks at White. ‘All you, buddy.’

She gulps and shrinks a little under Cheren’s glare. “Well...she’s a good drummer, an’ I thought that maybe it’d free you up to play some other instruments, and…”

Cheren puts a hand on his forehead, and then sighs. “Alright. Let’s do this, then.” He steps out of his room.

White blinks. “That’s it?”

“You’re right. She is a better drummer than me, and I’d rather play keys anyways. It’s annoying, but I can work with her.”

White breathes a sigh of relief, and then whispers in Black’s ear. “You didn’t tell me he could be that scary, Black.” 

Black laughs nervously. “Yeah...there might be some fireworks at practice from now on…Anyways, it’s not like they dislike each other, not really, but...she gets on his nerves, to say the least.”

They step out of Cheren’s room, and White starts talking immediately. “Okay, listen up, guys.” She takes a deep breath.

“Now that we’re all together, I have an announcement to make.” The other four look at her expectantly.

“I’ve signed us up to perform at the summer festival.”

The other three original members stare at her in shock, and then Black and Bianca more or less freak out completely. Iris just watches, amused.

“Oh, no!” wails Bianca.

“We suck! We’re sooooooo bad!” howls Black. “We’re gonna suck on stage! With an audience!”

“Relax, relax!” shouts White over the complaints. “It’s five months away! We’ve got time to practice!” The whining doesn’t stop, so she pulls an airhorn out of her backpack and gives it a blast.

“Ow!” yelps Black. “Where did you even get that?”

White ignores him. “Well, that was a better reception than I expected, honestly,” she says under her breath, and then explains louder: “We’re gonna start practicing 4 times a week to be good enough to play. I checked all your schedules, and found times that we can all make it. If you really don’t wanna do this, now’s the time to back out.” She looks around the room with an intensity Black hasn’t seen on her before. She’s really serious about this. No one says a word.

“Good. Now…” she pulls some sheets of paper out of her bag. “I’ve written some songs.” 

“What? In the last four days, you wrote some songs?” Black asks, confused.

“Five of them, to be exact.” She passes the sheets around. “I’d like to try playing them today. I don’t wanna just play covers. If we’re gonna be a legitimate band, we have to have our own songs!”

Black studies the sheets that White gave him. She’s written parts for everyone, and lyrics for all five songs. He notes that the lyrics are pretty good as well - she’s clever with her wordplay and the rhymes are nice and natural. He shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Iris is over the moon. “These are so good, White!” She yells. “I wanna play ‘em!” 

White grins. “That’s the enthusiasm I’m looking for! C’mon, you three,” she gestures to Black, Cheren and Bianca. “Where’s your balls?”

Bianca is glued to the songs as well. “This looks okay,” she says, finally. “I think I can play all this.” 

“Me too,” affirms Cheren. He picks a guitar off the wall and starts to tune it. “I’ll start with guitar for now, but I’d like to write some piano parts for some of these too.” 

“Perfect!” says White. She turns to Black. “That just leaves you. You in?” 

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Black pumps his fist. “Alright, let’s do this!”

“Well,” says Cheren at the end of practice. “We don’t sound any better with original songs than we do with covers.”

White cracks a grin. “C’mon, pal. I think we sounded at least a little better.”

“Yeah, ‘cos I’m here!” Iris pipes up. No one can argue with that. Iris’s drumming is manic and punchy, and her presence frees Cheren up to play another guitar, which makes their sound a whole lot richer. They still suck, but there’s progress today for sure.

“Alright, guys, same time tomorrow!” And with that, they break.

Black walks White home again. “Your songs are really good, y’know,” he says. “It’s too bad we can’t do them any justice.”

“Yet,” she replies, tapping the side of her nose. “We will. I promise.”

It turns out that she’s actually right. Four days a week of band practice tightens the group up quicker than any of them expected. Within about a month, they’ve started to sound something like a real band. A definitive sound emerges in their playing - They play a fast-n-loose style of garage rock, with a rough punk-rock edge to it. White’s voice is smoky and a little bit sultry - a perfect fit for their chosen genre. She chooses to play fast, melodic basslines rather than the single-note plucking of most indie-rock bassists, further showcasing her skill. Iris, deciding that her drumming style isn’t crazy enough, becomes a complete maniac, and one of their songs has a 13-second drum fill in it. 

It all comes together one practice. During one of the songs, something just clicks, and all of a sudden they don’t just sound okay - they sound great. Black starts hollering and howling over White’s singing, just because it feels good, and she looks over at him with glee. 

“Do more of that!” She calls over the music. “It sounds great!” And thus, another of their trademarks emerges. Black can only sing a little bit, but he can shout with the best of them, and does so throughout their songs.

White hits them with a curveball after that practice. “Honestly, I think we’re good enough to play in front of a crowd right now,” She says. “We have 14 songs. That’s enough for a full set, right?”

This time, she’s not met with cringing and whining, but with full-bodied enthusiasm. “You bet!” says Iris. “Can we get a gig?”

“‘Course we can!” grins Black. “There’s music clubs all over the city. We can easily find one that’ll let us play.”

White does just that. Another month later, they’re setting up on the stage in a bar. The oldest of them are just sixteen, but they’re allowed to perform as long as they aren’t spotted at the bar or with any alcohol.

White looks down at the crowd of people - there’s about thirty of them, mostly middle-aged guys in Metallica T-shirts - and then over at Black nervously. He can see her hands shaking a little bit on the neck of her bass. He removes his guitar strap and pulls her aside.

“You okay?” He whispers. 

“Yeah. fine.” She mutters, drawing a shaky breath. “Just a little nervous, that’s all.”

“C’mon, where’s the Prez I know? She’d be all over this!” Black encourages.

She gives him a look. “You guys weren’t saying that a month ago.” how the tables have turned.

“White Touko, come on,” he says sternly, using her real, full name. “I believe in us. I believe in you. We can do this, we will do this, and we’re gonna kick ass! Okay?”

White smiles, and gives him a light punch on the arm. “You always know just how to cheer me up, huh?” 

Black flushes. “T-that’s my job, isn’t it?” He says, as an attempt at a joke.

“Oi,” calls Iris, looking bored behind her drum kit. She’s flipping her drumsticks in the air, almost as high as the ceiling, and catching them. “Are you two done billing and cooing over there? We got a show to put on!”

White steps away from Black quickly. “R-right,” she says. “We’re coming!” she calls over to Iris.

Just before they’re about to play, Black gets a text message. It’s from his mother.

MOM: Someone special is here to watch you. Look at the back!

Black looks up to the back of the bar, and his heart catches in his throat. A familiar wheelchair is parked near the door. Mom and Dad have showed up to watch him. Dad must have gotten permission from the doctors to come watch this. Black smiles wide and waves.

“‘Incineroar’ first, right?” asks Bianca. White nods, and Cheren moves from his keyboard and picks up his guitar. Incineroar is one of their best songs. It’s the one with the 13-second drum fill. They wanted to make a good first impression.

Iris leads them in by tapping her sticks together and shouting: 

“WE ARE THE AGENCY! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR -”

The Agency plays like The Beatles at Shea in that tiny bar. They’re perfectly in sync with each other. Every strum, every pluck, and every drumbeat is deadly and potent. The drunken patrons of the bar sit up and take notice pretty quickly. This isn’t some mickey-mouse high-school Coldplay covers band, they realize - these kids can play. 

Black in particular plays his heart out, spurred on by the sight of his father in the back, and also by the sight of White at his side. He can scarcely take his eyes off her. Their gazes meet more than a few times, during breaks in her lyrics or when he jumps in with a few yips and yowls, and her whole face is lit up with joy. It’s right there, in the middle of their set, that he admits he’s fallen in love with her completely. 

Two hours fly by, and they finish their set to thunderous applause. Having successfully entertained a room full of drunk blue-collar workers, the band meets for a group-hug backstage. 

“That. Was. AWESOME!” Shouts Iris. “Drinks are on me!” 

They have to explain to the owner of the bar that she’s just kidding. 

Later on, as the band is packing up their equipment and getting ready to go home, Black’s mother wheels his father over to the stage, and he spots them. He’s about to go over and say hi, and then changes his mind and walks over to White first. She’s chatting with a couple of the audience members.

“Hey,” he says.

“What’s up?” she looks up at him, flashing him the smile that she’s been wearing since the set started.

“C’mere,” he replies, taking her by the hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He leads her over to where his parents are waiting. “White...this is my dad. He’s the one who taught me how to play.” He gives his parents each a hug - first his mother, then his father. “Hi, Dad.”

White is clearly very surprised by this, but she recovers enough to smile. “Oh. Hi. I’m White Touko,” she says. Black’s father lifts a quivering hand. 

“He wants you to shake it,” Black’s mother says. White obliges. His hand can’t grip hers at all, and she loosely shakes it twice.

“I’ve been showing him...videos of us playing,” Black explains. “I didn’t know he was going to be here, but...he’s the reason I played so well.”

Black’s dad arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay, I’m the reason I played so well. But...he helped.” Dad seems satisfied with that. He looks at Black, then at White, and winks at her. His eyes are full of mirth. 

“I keep telling you, we aren’t like that,” Black protests. Dad laughs.

White watches the two of them bicker, amazed at how they can do it when one of them can’t even talk. Finally she says, with a hint of uncertainty, “I’m going to go pack up. Black, you’ll walk me home, right?” 

Black nods. “Okay. I’ll be there when I’m done with these two,” he says, frowning. She’s not quite right, he can tell, but he’s not sure what’s up with her. 

“White, before you go…” starts Black’s mother. “We just wanted to...to thank you. Our son looks so happy, for the first time in years, and I believe that you’re the biggest reason for that. You’re welcome at our home anytime you like.”

White smiles, genuinely. “It’s no problem, Mrs. Touya. I like to see him happy too.” and then she heads back over to her stuff and starts to pack up. Black’s eyes follow her.

“Black, that was a wonderful show,” gushes his mother. “All of you should be proud of yourselves.”

“Yeah…” Black says dumbly. He’s still watching White, not really paying attention. 

His mother giggles. “Oh, my. Lovestruck, are we?”

Cheren overhears from across the stage and calls “Hit the nail on the head, Mrs. Touya.”

“Didn’t you see them making eyes at each other the whole set?” quips Bianca. 

Black yelps “C’mon, guys!” looking frantically at White to make sure she hadn’t heard. Thankfully, she seems a little lost in her own head at the moment. 

Mom laughs again, and then whispers in his ear. “Go to her.”

“Huh?”

“She wants to talk about something alone with you. It’s clear as day. Walk her home, and talk with her.”

“How can you tell?”

Mom smiles. “Call it a mother’s intuition.”

After several minutes of walking in silence, Black is ready to declare that motherly intuition is bullshit. White hasn’t spoken a word to him, and trails several steps behind. Finally, he can’t take it anymore.

“White. What’s the matter?” He asks, stopping and turning to face her. And then he freezes. 

She’s been crying. Quietly enough that he couldn’t hear her, but her face is streaked with tears. He approaches her cautiously. “White…”

“That’s what you meant,” she whispers hoarsely. “When you said he doesn’t play anymore…”

“...yeah. He can’t.”

She looks up at him. “Oh, Black…”

“I’m sorry I never told you,” he says, brushing a tear off of her cheek. “I don’t...I don’t like to talk about it.”

She wipes her eyes. “I understand.”

“When he started getting worse…” Black’s own eyes start to sting, and he fights off the tears. “I didn’t know what to do. He was my dad. He was my hero. He was always so strong, and full of life, and watching him deteriorate like that…It almost killed me.” He takes a shaky breath. They’re still holding hands, and neither wants to let go. “One of the last things he ever said to me...He told me not to cry for him. He didn’t want my happiness to be destroyed over it. I haven’t cried…So please, don’t cry on my behalf. I can’t bear to see you like this, White…”

“It’s alright,” she says simply, her eyes glistening. “It’s alright to not be okay.”

Black opens his mouth, but no words come. Instead, he finds tears dripping down his face. Where had this wonderful, sweet girl been when he needed her to tell him that the most?

For now, it’s okay that she’s here in the present. He raises his head and howls, releasing God knows how many years worth of tears. She pulls his hand to her breast and holds it tightly with both of hers, and they stay like that for a few minutes, both crying.

Eventually, Black cries himself out and steps back, trying to regain some form of dignity. “It’s really late. I should probably get you home…”

“Yeah…” she sniffs. Her cheeks are dusted with pink, and Black suspects his are the same. 

It’s not far to White’s house, and they walk in silence the final few blocks. Soon they reach her front door. She looks at him as she’s about to step inside.

“I’ll see you at school,” Black says, not sure what else to say.

“Okay…” she replies, but doesn’t go inside. Just as Black is about to ask her what she’s waiting for, she spins on her heel and wraps her arms around him tightly.

“I’msohappyImetyou!” She says into his chest. And then she hops away and disappears inside. 

‘Uh...Did I hear that right?”

2 weeks before the summer festival...

“She liiiiiikes you~!” sings Iris, bouncing up behind Black in the school hallway. She draws several odd looks from passersby, and Black lowers his head, blushing.

“Will you shut up?” He groans. “There’s no way White likes me, and anyways -”

“When did I mention White?” Iris asks innocently. Crap.

“No, I mean, I, uh -”

Iris doubles over laughing. “Honestly, Black, you’re so easy to read!” She wipes a joyful tear from her eye. “I do mean White, though. You should ask her out! You like her too, right?”

“...Go away.” 

Iris scampers off down the hallway cackling, leaving Black with a sense of dread in his stomach.

“He liiiiiiikes you~!” 

White jumps and turns around, having been trained in a Pavlovian fashion to panic slightly when she hears Iris’s sing-songy voice. She presses a hand to her chest to calm her heart and smiles. “Hello, Iris.” She watches as the tiny girl emerges from the crowd in the hall and more or less corners her. “Who likes me?”

Iris gets up in her face. “Who d’you think, dummy? Black!”

White’s heart skips a beat. “Oh. I-I don’t think so, Iris.” She says, attempting a casual tone and failing spectacularly. ‘There’s no way he could like me back, right?’ 

Iris grins. “You should see the look on your face. You like him too, right?”

White sighs and picks Iris up by her underarms, moving her out of the way. “I’m gonna be late for class, kiddo. I’ll see you at practice.” She flees towards the safety of her history class.

“Date him already!” Iris hollers after her. She can’t see, but White is wearing a blush and a small smile.

“Hi, Prez,” says Black, moseying into the music room and sitting next to White. 

“Heya,” she answers. They simultaneously remember Iris’s antics and look away from each other, blushing. Black starts sifting through his backpack.

“Hey, so, uh…There’s a song I wanna play, a cover...I have the tabs here…Actually, let me play it for you on my phone…”

He fishes the phone out of his pocket and hands White a pair of headphones. She gives him an odd look, but says nothing and puts the headphones in. Black hits “Play.”

“How I don’t know how to sing,  
I can barely play this thing…”

Immediately, White can tell that the lyrics to this song are very personal to Black. When it finishes, she smiles at Black and pulls the headphones out.

“It’s for your dad, isn’t it?”

“...I wanted to thank him, for...well, everything, I guess.” He chuckles. “This is one of his favorite songs, and...The words just feel like exactly that. A thank you, for everything.”

White checks the tabs and nods. “Okay. We should be able to learn it in time.” She smiles. “I think your dad’s gonna love it!”

The class goes by fairly uneventfully. When the bell rings for lunch, White stands and shields her eyes against the sunlight coming through the windows.

“It’s getting hot out lately, huh,” she says, panting a little. “Wanna go get some ice cream, Black?”

That sounds pretty good. “Sure, give me a second to get packed up. I’ll meet you at your locker.”

“Gotcha!” Black watches her leave the room, and then starts to pack up his guitar, smiling. 

“Are you two dating yet, or what?”

Black jumps a foot out of his chair. He’d forgotten Miss Elesa was still in the room.

“Geez,” he grumbles. “Not you, too.”

Miss Elesa smirks. “Well, come on. You guys might not pay much attention to me, but I’m paying attention to you. You’re clearly crazy about each other. Sounds like everyone can see it but yourselves.”

Black eyes her suspiciously. “Who’s ‘everyone’?

“Everyone.”

Black doesn’t speak for a moment. Finally, he says “You really think she likes me?” 

“Duh! You really are dense, aren’t you? That girl fancies you like crazy.”

Black looks at her for a moment, and then packs up his stuff quickly and chases after White with a big smile on his face. He throws a “thanks” over his shoulder at Elesa on the way out.

The first day of the summer festival - the second last day of school - finally arrives, and The Agency walk to school together in the blistering heat. 

“Really, Cheren,” Iris groans, gesturing at the large, unwieldy bag Cheren is carrying. “A keytar? That’s like the dorkiest instrument known to man!”

“It’s practical!” protests Cheren. 

“You can only use one hand and it’ll break your back. What’s practical about that?”

“The effects I can get on it for ‘Dive’ and ‘Mt. Moon’ are great,” argues Cheren. “And it isn’t that heavy.”

“We have to check in at the auditorium with all of our stuff before we do anything else,” White reminds the band, interrupting the argument. “We won’t be the only ones performing, but since our set is the longest we’ll be on at 5:00. That means we have a lot of time to check out the whole festival!”

Cheren chuckles. “Oh, dear. She doesn’t know?” 

White blinks. “Know what?” 

“No matter how much time we have, it’ll be impossible to check out the whole festival.” explains Cheren. “We’re known around the region for...kind of overdoing these things.”

“Ah, come on. It’s just a school festival,” She snorts as they approach the school. “How big can it...oh. Woah.”

They get to the school gate and White stops in her tracks. There are thousands of people there already. Not just students - There’s plenty of adults and young children here as well. Booths and stalls line the walkway as far as the eye can see. There’s games and food and music and even a ferris wheel, sitting on a flatbed truck off in the distance.

“When the festival rolls around, it seems like the whole city takes the day off to come here,” says Black. It’s a far cry from a small-town girl like White’s idea of a summer festival. She’s used to wearing a kimono, eating some takoyaki and then watching hanabi on the beach. This is on a whole different level and she’s completely floored.

The rest of the band have to lead White to the auditorium, pulling her along whenever she stops to look at something. “You were the one saying we had to check in first,” giggles Bianca. “Now look at you!”

Finally, they manage to drag White to the auditorium, and drop off all of their gear. Black and Cheren let out a sigh of relief when they get there. Black is going to use three different guitars for the set - he carried his own white Telecaster and his black Gibson SG in each hand. The third guitar, on his back, is none other than his father’s beat-up old Telecaster. Unfortunately, he had been unable to convince anyone else to carry even one of them. And despite his best arguments, Cheren’s keytar is actually pretty heavy, and he’d had to carry his own guitar as well. He also just had to choose a Les Paul, which are notorious for being back-breakingly heavy.

White is bursting with excitement - she’s bouncing around like Iris does all the time. “What do you guys wanna do first?”

“I can’t enjoy myself just yet, unfortunately,” sighs Cheren. “I’m drumming for a few of the morning acts, so I have to stay here.”

“Bummer,” says Iris. “Hey, me and Bianca have something to do too, so why don’t you two go off by yourselves and have some fun?”

Bianca looks confused. “Um, what do we have to-” 

“Ahhh, Bianca, you’re such a kidder! C’mon,” Iris says with a forced grin. She pulls Bianca down to her head and whispers something in her ear, giving a not-too-subtle point towards Black and White. 

Bianca straightens. “Oh! Yes, that’s right. Iris and I have to, ummmm…” Bianca was never a good liar. 

White huffs and waves them away playfully. “Good grief. Fine. I’ll just spend the day with Black, then. Is that okay, Black?”

Black had been daydreaming about the concert they were going to put on rather than paying attention to the conversation. He looks over, startled. “Huh?”

“Come on,” she exclaims in exasperation, pulling him away by the shirt sleeve. She turns around and mouths “Thank you!” at Bianca and Iris. Iris gives her a thumbs up.

“Aren’t you a little bit old for face paint, Prez?” teases Black. White is in the middle of having a little golden sun painted on her cheek at one of the booths.

“Bite me,” she replies. “It’s the festival, I can do what I want!” 

It’s already late afternoon, and the pair had spent all day together playing at the festival. Time flies when you’re having fun, and spending the day together with the person you’re in love with is very fun indeed. Although, Black had to admit, it was slightly marred by a little voice in the back of his head, nagging him the whole time. “Tell her how you feel. She likes you, so what’s the problem? Tell her in the haunted house, or on the ferris wheel. Do it at sunset, or during the fireworks. Just do it.”

Little does Black know that White has the exact same problem. “You’d better confess soon, or someone else is going to take him.” says her own little voice (which sounds suspiciously like Iris). “He’s right there. Just kiss him!”

She tries to glance over at Black, but the boy doing her face paint takes her chin and pulls her back to face him. “Head forward, please. I’m almost done.”

“Sorry.” She mutters. 

The boy smiles. “Just about...okay, there you are.” He gives her a mirror. “It matches your lovely face quite well, I must say.” 

She blushes. “Ah, thanks…”

“I’m about to start my break,” He says. The flirtation in his eyes is clear. “Would you like to join me?”

“Oh...uh…” Her mind races as she tries to find a way to reject him.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

“No, but...I have someone that I like, so…”

Black comes to the rescue. “She’s with me,” he says gruffly. “Thanks for the face paint.” he drops a dollar on the guy’s booth and guides White away.

“Jerk,” he says, giving the boy a dirty look before turning away. They walk across the quad to the school doors, and step inside, away from the blistering heat. The hallway is deserted.

White frowns. “Black...he was just flirting,” she says.

“Hmph. Well, I didn’t like it.”

White stops in her tracks. Boldly, she asks, “Why not?”

Black stops as well and turns to her. “Huh?”

She almost says “Never mind”, but before she loses her courage, she asks “Why do you have a problem with other guys flirting with me?”

Black blushes heavily, and she doesn’t fail to notice. “Well, I mean...That’s because…” He stammers.

She arches an eyebrow. “You got something to say to me, Black?”

He does. Oh, he very much does. “Say it, idiot! There’s no one around, and she wants to know! SAY IT!”

He takes a deep breath. “White...I…”

He’s interrupted by the chiming of the clock. It’s 5 PM. 

White swears loudly. “We’re late! We gotta go get our stage clothes on!” She takes off in the direction of the auditorium, and then runs back to Black. “We’ll finish this conversation after the show!” She bolts again, this time dragging Black with her.

“Sorry we’re late,” White exclaims, bursting through the backstage door. “We just got changed…”

Iris eyes the pair of them. They’re out of breath, sweaty, and their cheeks are flushed from their run. “Just what were you two doing, anyways?” 

“We...lost track of time,” mutters Black. He knows how this looks, and Iris is gonna have a field day teasing them about it later.

Cheren is clearly trying not to laugh. He says, “You guys aren’t too late. The act before us is still going, so you had time.”

White forces a smile. “Is that so? Well, never mind…” She’s clearly annoyed that she didn’t get to hear what Black had to say.

They wait around backstage, none of them saying much. Finally, the act ahead of them finishes up their set and heads offstage.

White takes a deep breath and shoulders her bass. “Okay, guys. Let’s do this.”

“Just like rehearsal,” Black says, not entirely certain who he’s trying to reassure. Maybe it’s himself.

Nothing could have prepared either of them for walking out on stage and seeing a crowd of two thousand people. The bar they’d played in had contained maybe 30 patrons, but the auditorium is completely full, up to and including the standing room on the balcony. Black isn’t sure how that doesn’t count as a fire hazard.

The stage is decorated with a tropical theme, which includes two big fake palm trees flanking the performers. A little bit tacky, White thinks. But she pushes it out of her mind and focuses on setting up for the performance.

The guitarists and bassist plug their instruments into the huge Marshall stacks, and tune up. Their set is designed so that Black can play with as few guitar changes as possible - they’ll start with the SG songs, and then the ones that he’ll use his own Telecaster for, and then he’ll play the final song with his dad’s guitar. Bianca only wants to use her Strat - Cheren had finally just given it to her as a gift after she’d refused to try any other guitar he had. Cheren’s only brought his Les Paul, and he can deal with switching between instruments throughout the set. And White has only brought her favorite white Rickenbacker, so she won’t need any instrument changes at all.

Black looks out into the audience, searching for his father and mother, but he can’t see them. ‘Where are they?’ Dad had gotten hospital clearance for today. He’s supposed to be here.

“We can’t start yet,” he calls to White. “My parents aren’t here.” 

White cocks her head to the side and frowns. “Are you sure? Maybe you just can’t see them.”

Black looks out into the audience again, and shakes his head. “No, they’re definitely not here. Stall for a bit.” He unplugs his guitar.

“How? Black!” White protests.

He heads backstage and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

BLACK: Where are you? We’re about to start.

He sends the text, and watches the screen for a minute. The “read” notification doesn’t pop up. He waits for as long as he can, but soon White comes backstage.

“Black…” she says gently. “We have to start, or we’ll go over our time.” 

Black’s fist clenches over his phone. “They aren’t here. They’re supposed to be here.”

“I’m sure they’ll show up, Black,” White says sympathetically. “Your dad’s song is at the very end. He’ll hear it.”

Black says nothing, feeling numb. He doesn’t move.

“Have faith in them,” she encourages. “Your dad wouldn’t miss this for the world. I know it!”

The teacher running the stage walks over. “Hey, what’s going on? You guys had better start soon, or I’m going to have to cut your set short.”

White looks at Black, and finally he nods and makes his way back out onto the stage with her.

Iris looks at White. “We ready?” White nods. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“TWO, ONE, TWO, THREE FOUR-”

Iris’s drums lead them into the first song - “Wild Charge”, which is an energetic, chaotic number. The crowd cheers as White launches into the first verse.

Halfway through the song, she notices that Black’s usual raucous vocalizations are completely absent. She glances over at him. His playing is fine, sharp and tight as ever, but...his usual energy has been replaced with a shoegazer’s demeanour, literally - he’s looking at some imaginary pedalboard on the floor, and his wild movements have been replaced by nothing other than the gentle tapping of one foot to keep the beat. ‘This is bad,’ White thinks. He clearly isn’t enjoying himself at all. 

After the song ends, she goes over to Cheren and Bianca and says “He’s like a dead fish right now. Put on a show for the crowd - keep their eyes off him until his parents show up.”

“...What should we do?” Bianca asks, confused.

“I don’t know! Move around a lot - dance like an idiot. Just do something!” 

For the next two songs, the three members who aren’t Black or Iris bounce around like a trio of monkeys on stage. It seems to work - most of the eyes in the audience aren’t looking at Black, but another problem arises.

They meet while Black goes backstage to switch guitars after the third song - “Heart Scale”. “I can’t keep this up much longer,” pants Cheren. “It’s too tiring.” 

“Me neither,” agrees White. “Well, the next song is ‘Mt. Moon,’ so we can tone it down a little bit...but I hope they show up soon. For Black’s sake and ours.” 

“Mt. Moon” is a slower ballad, which gives the three of them a bit of a breather. But the set is already half done, and there’s still no sign of Black’s parents. Where could they be?

Finally, finally, during the quiet opening of their 5-minute instrumental song “Dive”, White spots the familiar wheelchair rolling through the door of the auditorium. Black doesn’t notice, so she wanders over to his side of the stage and stands with her back to his.

“Hey,” she says gently. “Look.”

Black looks up from his shoes for the first time. When he sees his parents, his eyes grow wide and so does his smile. 

“I told you they’d be here.” White grins. “You gonna cheer up now?”

“You bet,” he says. The opening of the song ends, and Black leans into his microphone and hollers at full volume as the instrumentation crescendos. White laughs and heads back over to her spot at center stage.

All of a sudden, there’s a whole new dimension to the show. They’d been playing fine so far, but with Black finally giving his all, The Agency begins to seriously kick ass, the way they normally do. The next four songs finish to enthusiastic applause. Finally, they reach the last song on their set list.

Black goes backstage to switch to his final guitar, and then comes back out. Instead of moving to his old position, he walks up to where White stands at center stage.

She gives his hand a squeeze when he gets there. “Good luck,” she says, and then moves over to take his old spot. 

Black plugs in the ancient Telecaster. He looks down into the expectant audience, and then over at his father.

“Okay...so…” he starts. “This is the last song of our set. It doesn’t belong to us. It’s a cover. But...it’s one of my dad’s favorites. Hi, Dad.” He waves at his father. The audience turns to look at the disabled man, and a few of them gasp. “Our lovely White Touko has been singing all evening…” He gestures over at the girl, who waves and bows. “But I’m gonna sing this one.” He looks at his father once more. “Dad...thanks for everything. This one’s for you.”

He glances back at Iris, and then over at Cheren and Bianca, and finally over towards White. She gives him the faintest nod, and he starts to play.

His guitar lead starts off the song, alone - he plays the opening riff twice, and launches into the vocals.

“How I don’t know how to sing,  
I can barely play this thing  
But you never seem to mind,  
And you tell me to fuck off,  
When I need somebody to  
How you make me laugh so hard

How whole years refuse to stay,  
Where we told them to, bad dog  
Locked up blindly in a word,   
or a misplaced souvenir...”

During the pre-chorus, White moves across the stage to stand beside him. 

“How the past chews on your shoes,   
And these memories lick my ears…” 

Back-to-back, they launch into the chorus together. It’s a simple chorus, just two lines, but it’s the most important lyric in the song. 

“I know you might roll your eyes at this,  
But I’m so glad that you exist...”

Black sings the third verse alone.

“How we waste our precious time  
Marching in the picket line,  
That surround those striking hearts,  
And the time is never now…”

With the next line, he turns and looks White in the eyes. 

“And we know who we should love,”  
But we’re never certain how...”

She gazes back at him with immense fondness in her lovely blue eyes. Their focus stays on each other as they sing the second chorus together.

“I know you might roll your eyes at this,  
But I’m so glad that you exist...”

The chorus repeats once more, and then there’s an instrumental bridge, during which the crowd applauds tremendously. Black looks over at his father. He’s not sure, but it looks like he’s crying and smiling. 

They launch into the final chorus. This time, the whole band sings it.

“I know you might roll your eyes at this,  
But I’m so glad that you exist.”

Two bars later, the song is over, finishing in a clattering of drums. Black, now crying a little himself, shouts into the microphone. “Thank you so much! We are The Agency! Good night, everyone!” He hands his guitar to Cheren, and then jumps off the stage and runs to the back of the auditorium to greet his parents.

He gives his mother a hug first. “I thought you guys weren’t coming!”

“They tried to revoke his clearance - he had a slightly irregular reading on his heartbeat this morning, and they wanted to keep him to do some tests,” she explains. “Eventually we convinced them to let him go, but we got caught in traffic and there was no signal on the highway, so we couldn’t text - honey, I’m so sorry we were late.”

“That’s okay,” says Black. “You saw the most important part. But...I guess you’ll have to go back now, huh?” 

She smiles sadly. “Sorry, yes. They wanted him back as soon as the show was over. But, Black...we’re both so proud of you.”

“I know. “I’ll come by later tonight, I promise,” he says, looking at his father. Dad nods, as much as he can. His eyes are shining - he looks happier than Black has seen him since the day he was told he’d never play guitar again. Black gives him a hug and waves goodbye, and then heads backstage.

As the auditorium clears out, The Agency pack up their things. Black is setting his father’s guitar in its case when he hears approaching footsteps from over his shoulder. He looks up to see White standing over him.

“Hi,” he says, standing up and scratching the back of his head. They’re in a small nook tucked away near the stage door - no one else can see them. 

“Hey,” she replies softly. 

They stay like that for a second, searching each other’s eyes.

“Was he happy?” She asks vaguely. “Your dad, I mean.”

Black smiles. “I haven’t seen him happier than that in years.” he says. “Was my singing okay?”

White grins. “Not as good as mine, but...you pass, I guess. At least the first line of the song wasn’t literal. ‘How I don’t know how to sing…” They both laugh.

“White, listen…” He says, his face turning serious. “I have something I need to tell you.”

“Is it what you were about to say to me earlier?” She asks, her tone becoming a little bit shy. 

“Yeah. White…” He searches for the right words to use, and can’t really come up with anything coherent. “This has been going on since we became friends, but...lately, especially, I’ve been having these feelings...And I was wondering if maybe you felt the same...and...I just wanted to tell you…”

White listens to him ramble for a good twenty seconds, waiting for the words she now knows he wants to say. When he hits thirty and still hasn’t gotten to the point, she gives up and does it for him. “Black,” she interrupts, arching an eyebrow. “Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

Black’s lips stop moving instantly, and he stands there like a complete dumbass.

“Is that...uh, I mean, you want me to? I wasn’t sure...and...”

White rolls her eyes. “Oh, good grief, Black,” she sighs in exasperation. And with that, she steps forward, winds her arms around his neck, and kisses him.

Black doesn’t react until like six seconds after she initiates the kiss. He just stands there as her mouth moves in his, soft and sweet. She knows him well enough to realize that it just takes that long for his gears to start turning again after a big shock. He’s such a dork, but that’s okay. As long as he’s her dork. Finally, he wraps his arms around her waist and melts into her. As far as first kisses go, Black thinks, this one is pretty much perfect.

Well, okay, they’re in the corner of a dimly-lit, dirty auditorium backstage, so not perfect. But considering the fact that it’s White kissing him...well, the other details seem trivial.

Black would have been content to stay like that forever, but eventually Iris finds them - because of course she does.

“Finally!” She shouts, breaking the newly-formed couple apart. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed! Do it again!” 

White is beet-red, but she grins at Iris. “Yeah, okay. We’re together now. You happy?” She asks in mock annoyance. 

“Hell yeah, I’m happy. HEY! CHEREN! BIANCA! THEY KISSED! Yeah, on the lips!”

Black can hear Bianca squealing and Cheren calling “Congratulations!” across the stage. Iris sprints back over to them, her mouth running at a mile a minute.

“Well, everyone in the school is gonna know by tomorrow,” groans Black. 

“Yeah...I would have liked a little privacy to start off with, but that’s what we get for doing it in public,” White giggles.

Overcome with emotion, Black trails his fingertips across White’s palm, and she laces her fingers through his in response.

“I don’t care,” he decides. “As long as I’m with you...that’s all that matters.”

She blushes at that. They’ve been officially together for less than two minutes and already he’s making her heart flutter. Well, two can play at that game.

“You know..” she whispers, just before she kisses him again. “I’m so glad that you exist.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I borrowed/stole two real songs for this story. The first one, which Black and White play during their first guitar class together, is “The Modern Age” by The Strokes. The second one, which The Agency covers during the summer festival (and is also what this story is named after) is “The Reasons” by The Weakerthans.


End file.
